You, Whom I Loved
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke comes up with a surprise to snap Leslie out of her doldrums. Follows 'Little Girl Lost'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Sequel already! It's in progress and the computer problem hasn't gone away yet, which is making me unbelievably impatient. My continued thanks for your feedback and the patience I don't have anymore. : )  
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§ § § -- January 3, 2000 – Lilla Jordsö

The bumpy landing at Sundborg's airport woke Christian from an uneasy doze, and he gave his head several hard shakes to clear it. Memory came back in an instant avalanche and his stomach, which had settled a bit during his slumber, grew queasy again. He knew he had done the only thing he could possibly do; but his freeing of Leslie left a void in his heart that was making him physically ill.

Anna-Kristina arose and swept past him. She was very angry with him, and hadn't spoken to him at all since their last exchange on the Fantasy Island charter plane. Christian had given up trying to draw her out; he let her go on ahead while he slowly collected his carry-on bag. He would deliver Anna-Kristina to the castle, then return home.

The limo ride there was as silent as the assorted flights had been. Christian turned inward, making busywork of removing his passport and a few other items from his carry-on and slipping them into pockets in his heavy overcoat, keeping his eyes downcast. It was a gray day on Lilla Jordsö and spitting snow flurries; the weather perfectly suited his mood. He tried to focus on his upcoming confrontation with his brother, for it hurt too much to think of Leslie.

He got out with his niece under the moss-covered stone portico and said to the driver, "Wait here, I'll return as soon as I can." The driver nodded and bowed.

Anna-Kristina glared at him and spoke to him for the first time. "I don't need any help from you."

"Well, you're going to get it nevertheless," Christian said tiredly. "I have something to say to Arnulf anyhow." She scowled but fell silent, and he led the way into the massive entry hall, while she trailed behind him, glaring knives at him.

Arnulf had a massive office from which he handled most of the daily work of running the castle and his kingdom; it was here that Christian brought Anna-Kristina. Arnulf looked astonished, then relieved, then angry. "So you've come home at last, then," he said, addressing both his brother and his daughter.

"I didn't want to," shot back Anna-Kristina. "But since Uncle Christian forced me to, I have two things I want done. I won't take no for an answer, even if you _are_ the king."

Arnulf frowned, a not-unfamiliar expression of disapproval on his face. "Just what do you want, then?"

"Don't marry me to that beast Asgar," she said promptly. "He'll destroy me one way or another. He believes I'm his ticket to the throne and is likely to take over my position, with me as just a front so that he can get away with actual rule of the country. He belittles and criticizes me, and if he himself doesn't someday do away with me in his lust for power, then I'll kill myself to escape him."

Even her last sentence didn't seem to get through to Arnulf; he only narrowed his eyes at her and said, "You overreact, as always."

"No, I don't! Asgar doesn't want me, only the power I represent!" She shook her head in frustration. "But if you persist in marrying me to him—for that matter, even if you don't—I want Gabriella to take the throne. I no longer have any interest in becoming queen of Lilla Jordsö. I don't have the talent or the temperament for it."

Arnulf stood up. "You go too far, Anna-Kristina, and I won't allow it," he warned her ominously.

Christian exploded at that point; his sharp curse surprised both Arnulf and Anna-Kristina. "I think I've heard all I can stand, and now it's my turn to put in a word, even if it means less than a tin _öre_ to either one of you! Arnulf, you truly live to control everyone around you, don't you? I thought it was only me, but apparently it's more than that. You aren't happy unless you're calling all the shots. You've already destroyed my life—haven't you had enough of ruining people's hopes and dreams? The very least you can do is listen to your own daughter and really pay attention to what she's trying to tell you—not to mention believing her and standing up for her, and just being on her side, as a good father should!" He stalked out in a black rage, no longer able to trust himself not to do somebody some serious bodily harm.

Outside he barked at the driver, "Take me home now. Åtta Kronorsgränd 20, the penthouse, in the capital."

"Immediately, Your Highness," was the prompt reply, and fifteen minutes later Christian let himself into his airy, light-filled apartment on the top floor of a pricey building in downtown Sundborg, on a quiet alleyway whose name translated as Eight Crowns Lane. He had the beginnings of what promised to be a massive headache, and his stomach was making serious attempts to eject what little he'd eaten on the journey back from Fantasy Island.

Marina emerged from the kitchen, looking as if she herself had returned not very long ago from somewhere—probably Italy, he mused. "So you're back. How was the trip, then?"

"I brought Anna-Kristina home safely," he said tersely, dropping his bags where he stood and beginning to shrug out of his overcoat. "I don't feel well and I think I'll go to bed."

Marina assessed him critically. "What happened to you? Christian, you can't fool me and you know it. Something has gone horribly wrong."

He eyed her wearily, dropping the coat over the back of a chair. "Give me a chance to recover, will you? Then I think we need to have a talk about a few things."

"No," Marina contradicted, "you'll tell me now. You should look rested and refreshed, if a little sad at leaving Leslie behind." Her mention of Leslie's name evoked an automatic involuntary wince from him, and she pounced. "Tell me _now_—what happened?"

His defeated sigh filled the quiet room. "I had to do it, Marina. I set Leslie free. There's no escape for either you or me from this marriage, and we both know it. We may as well make the best of it, you and I."

"You _set Leslie free?"_ Marina hissed in disbelief. "Are you completely mad, Christian Enstad?"

"I told you, we have no choice. We're trapped," Christian reminded her impatiently.

"Oh no…no, no, no," Marina barked, pacing the room, throwing him frequent black glares. "Perhaps you think _you_ have no choice, but I refuse to admit defeat to my father or your brother. They will _not_ manipulate our lives for all time! You think there's no choice, do you? Well, I won't accept it! Our marriage remains platonic, Christian, do you understand? I give myself to _no_ one! Even my man in Italy has waited for me."

Christian stared at her. "You little deceiver! You mean you've never…?"

"No! I want our separation to be processed as quickly as possible when the time finally arrives," Marina said heatedly, "and if I remain untouched by any man, then it's unassailable proof that this marriage was never consummated and we can obtain a simple annulment. Much quicker and more expedient than going through a time-consuming divorce. I have faith—why don't you?"

"Do you know of a way out of this impossible dilemma?" Christian demanded. She blinked and shook her head, and he spat out a string of frustrated oaths. "Just as I thought! I have no solutions, you have none…not even Mr. Roarke has a way out! It wasn't fair of me to keep Leslie hanging when I can never be with her, so I broke things off…" His voice cracked badly and he bowed his head, battling for calm.

"Then you're a fool, because you've thrown away your love for a wonderful woman who truly loves you," Marina said coldly. "I hope you'll suffer greatly for it. You deserve it for losing all faith in the end of this madness." She left him standing there trying fruitlessly to stanch the tears that had begun to fall. The worst of it, Christian reflected bleakly, was that she was right. She might be an impossible romantic: after all, she was just a child, almost eighteen years younger than he was, and she should probably be expected to cling to her useless optimism. He himself had to face reality—but that didn't change the fact that he agreed with her: he deserved to suffer for the hell he knew he had put Leslie through, and there was no question in his mind that he would.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- January 8, 2000 – Fantasy Island

It had been a very bad week for Leslie. She hadn't really slept; what little sleep she got was restless and poor. By Saturday morning she had visible bags under her eyes, and her father was banking heavily on one of their guests to help improve things for her.

Leslie showed so little interest in the first fantasy that Roarke leaned over and studied her face. "Are you paying attention, Leslie Susan?" he scolded gently.

She blinked a couple of times and shrugged listlessly. "Sure, I'm listening."

"Well, you'd better put a little extra attention to the business at hand," said Roarke, not unkindly. "Whatever is going on in our personal lives, the guests should never see any evidence of it, and you know it. Try to look at least a little more alert, if not happy."

"Tall orders," Leslie said sourly, but she lifted her chin and cleared her throat. "Okay, here I am. Now who else is coming this weekend?"

Roarke gestured at the landing dock, where a man with honey-blond hair, dressed preppy-fashion in a button-down shirt, Dockers and a sweater whose arms were knotted around his shoulders, was just stepping through the hatch. Leslie watched him for a moment, unsure, though a memory seemed to be kicking up in the depths of her brain somewhere. "You're going to tell me I should know that man, aren't you?"

"I think you do," Roarke said. "That is Mr. Spencer Gray, who comes all the way from Plainville, Connecticut."

He got precisely the reaction he had hoped for: Leslie's eyes popped and she gawked at the newcomer. "Spence!?" she exclaimed, astonished.

"You do remember him—good," Roarke said with satisfaction. "In that case, tell me what you recall."

"We were in school together through my third-grade year," said Leslie. "He was very quiet, but whenever someone provoked him he'd always stand up for himself. He had a younger sister named Stephanie, who was best friends with Kristy and Kelly. Kids used to tease me because they thought he was my boyfriend, and I always got upset and told them he was only my friend." She actually laughed. "And he was that. In fact, he was a better friend than any of the girls I used to hang out with."

Roarke smiled broadly. "You have a good memory, Leslie. Mr. Gray wrote not very long ago telling me that he had always wondered what had happened to you after the fire that precipitated your family's move to California. And now he's here for a reunion with you. So what do you think?"

"This is great," Leslie said and turned to him with a wistful smile. "Thank you, Father. Now maybe I can get my mind off Christian for just one weekend."

Roarke smiled again and nodded once, then winked at her just before the native girl delivered his drink and he raised his glass to deliver the familiar weekly toast. When Spencer Gray lifted his own drink in return, he aimed his toast at Leslie, who grinned sheepishly and ducked her head.

‡ ‡ ‡

The moment she and Roarke got back to the main house, Leslie fled upstairs to try to minimize her emotionally-beaten appearance, which left Roarke alone to greet Spencer Gray when he arrived. "Welcome, Mr. Gray," Roarke said. "Sit down, won't you?"

"I think maybe I'd rather stand," said Spencer. "I've sat so much on all my flights, my rear end is sore. It feels good to stand up. Where's Leslie?"

"She'll be down in a moment or two," Roarke assured him. "Just to set your mind at ease, she remembered you very well."

Spencer lit. "Really? That's great! It's been so many years, you know, and I'm dying to find out how on earth she wound up here. I did some hunting around on the internet, and you wouldn't believe how many Leslie Hamiltons there are out there. And the worst part is, I didn't know her middle name, or I could have narrowed down the search and found her a lot sooner than this." Roarke chuckled, and just then Leslie came down the stairs at a rapid pace, looking up as soon as she hit the floor in the study.

"Spencer Gray, is that really you?" she burst out.

"Yep, it's me all right," he said, laughing. "Leslie, you're gorgeous! You look just terrific! I guess life's been pretty good to you, huh?" He crossed the room to her and grabbed her hand, and she responded with an all-out bear hug that he gladly returned.

"Wait till you find out what life's done to me over the years," Leslie said, rolling her eyes and stepping back to study him. "I'm just as interested in what's been going on with you, you know. Do you still live in Plainville?"

"Yeah, I never did get out," Spencer admitted. "Remember how I used to talk about moving to some exotic-sounding place? California or Alaska, maybe? And instead you were the one who wound up moving."

Leslie nodded. "Yeah…which reminds me, how's Stephanie?"

"Happy as a clam," Spencer said. "She was married five years ago and has a two-year-old. She told me to find out whatever happened to the twins when I came here." A shadow crossed Leslie's face that neither Spencer nor Roarke missed, and Spencer glanced at his host. "I hope you don't mind if I steal Leslie for the day, Mr. Roarke," he said.

"By all means—she's the very reason for your fantasy, after all," said Roarke warmly. "Enjoy yourselves, you two. Leslie, I think you'd better be back here for dinner, because Mariki has been fussing, as usual."

"What else is new?" said Leslie, and she shared a laugh with Roarke. "Spence, you're invited too, you know. So let's see, what would you be interested in doing?"

"I'll follow you wherever you feel like going," Spencer told her. "I read the entire website before I came, and it looks like there's no place on the whole island that isn't worth checking out. Someone was very thorough with the descriptions." Once more a shadow darkened Leslie's features, and Spencer took her hand. "You okay?"

She shook off her mood with an effort. "I'll be fine. Come on, then, I'll show you the Japanese teahouse and the pond. My friend Katsumi's the hostess there and she should be working today." She glanced back at Roarke. "See you later, Father."

Roarke smiled and watched them go. Leslie led Spencer out the door and to a car that sat in the lane, and once they were on their way he eyed her. "Did you just call Mr. Roarke 'Father'?"

She grinned. "Sure did. Why don't we wait till we get to the teahouse and I'll tell you the whole sordid story." She met his laughing gaze for a moment and then took in his attire with a swift glance. Shifting her attention back to the road, she remarked, "Since when did you turn into a button-down businessman? You never used to wear anything but dungarees and plain white shirts, like some kind of little laborer."

Spencer burst out laughing. "I guess I was kind of a scrapper," he agreed. "It was just easier for my mother to put me in clothes that'd take the kind of punishment I put them through. You can't possibly have forgotten all the fights I got into on your behalf."

"But you were fighting girls, mostly," Leslie countered, grinning.

"Which in turn got me into fights with the guys," Spencer returned, and again they laughed. "Hey, this is really nice. Looks authentic." They had reached the teahouse, and Leslie pulled over to the side of the road and parked.

"It is," she said. "Father's very thorough in his research. Come on and let's see if Katsumi's busy." She led the way to the teahouse and peered inside; Katsumi was cleaning up from a recent tea ceremony and brightened when she saw Leslie.

"You are looking better, Leslie," she said. "Not good for you to be so sad all the time. I'm glad you came."

"Actually, an old friend of mine is here," Leslie said, gesturing at Spencer who had squeezed into the room behind her. "Katsumi Miyamoto, meet Spencer Gray."

Spencer nodded at Katsumi, who gave him a half-bow that seemed to disconcert him. "If my manners seem lacking, you'll have to forgive me, both of you," he said. "I just don't know the protocol—all my business travel is to Europe."

"You travel to Europe?" Leslie exclaimed, amazed. "I've been only twice—actually, I lived there for a few years." She saw Spencer's interest kindle again and threw her hands in the air. "Katsumi, I hope you don't mind if Spence and I talk in here. We haven't seen each other in more than twenty-five years, and there's a lot of catching up to do."

"That is fine," Katsumi agreed readily. "You would like some tea, maybe? Oh yes…I forget, Leslie, you don't like tea. You are quite odd." She was grinning as she said that, and Leslie rolled her eyes again, precipitating a laugh from Katsumi. "I need tea for the next ceremony anyhow. I have mango juice. You wait here and I give you some." She swept out of the room with a tray full of delicate porcelain teacups.

Spencer surveyed the low Japanese table with the cushions scattered around it. "Boy, if I sit down there I'll probably never get back up again," he joked. "But if you can do it, so can I. I'm not much older than you."

"Oh? Just how much older are you?" Leslie teased him, choosing a cushion and lowering herself onto it. "I can't remember if you ever told me when your birthday is."

"Shame on you," Spencer scolded her with a laugh. "You came to my seventh birthday party, you know. I was born on February tenth—and yours is May sixth, isn't it?"

Leslie eyed him. "Uh-oh. If you can remember a detail like that after a quarter century, then maybe I should wonder just what motive you really have for coming here." Her tone was still light, but her eyes had lost their sparkle.

Spencer peered at her with sudden concern. "Leslie, do you need to talk about it? I hate to say it, really, but you look as if something awful's happened to you lately."

She broke their gaze and swallowed visibly, cleared her throat and finally looked up again, shaking her head with a determined expression on her face. "No, it's not worth wasting our time on," she said. "I'd rather find out what you do that allows you to travel to Europe, even if it is just on business."

Spencer shrugged, trying to resettle his weight on the cushion he'd picked. "I'm into computer software," he said. "It's not exactly a unique field, but my specialty is games—and in my case, it's games for girls. Most of the ones out there are geared toward boys, and I think girls get short shrift. Who says girls don't want to play computer games?"

Leslie laughed. "Good for you. I suppose they sell in Europe too."

"Yeah, mostly in northern Europe—Germany, Holland, the British Isles, the Scandinavian countries. I'm trying to make some inroads in France and Switzerland, and if that's successful I'll look into Spain, Portugal and Italy. I sell pretty well in the U.S. and Canada too, and I'm CEO…which is why the preppy look." Spencer grinned self-deprecatingly and Leslie laughed again.

"That's really terrific, Spence. Congratulations. How about a family?"

Now it was Spencer's face that clouded over. "I was married for nine years, divorced two years ago," he said. "Two kids. Daniel's eight and Lesley's five and a half." He saw Leslie's look and shrugged. "Yeah, she's named after you. I didn't tell Donna that, but she insisted on spelling it L-E-S-L-E-Y. She said she didn't like it the other way."

"No taste," growled Leslie with feigned indignation, making Spencer chuckle. "I'm sorry about your divorce, Spence."

Spencer made a dismissive noise. "Forget it, it's history. Enough stalling, Leslie, I want to know how you got to Fantasy Island, and why you call Mr. Roarke 'Father'."

Katsumi returned just then with two glasses of juice. "I won't interrupt," she said, giving Spencer and Leslie each a glass. "If you let me take the last cups, I stay in the kitchen and you have privacy. Smile, Leslie," she said as an impish postscript, and released one of her delicate tinkling laughs when Leslie stuck her tongue out at her friend. Chuckling softly, Leslie watched her leave, then shifted on her cushion and stretched out her legs.

"Well, okay, since you asked, prepare to be bored stupid," she said. "Before I start, though, what do you remember about our move?"

"I know you went out west somewhere," Spencer said, clearly searching his memory. "Mostly what I remember is that awful house fire that killed your grandmother. After you were gone, Stephanie waited for weeks for a letter from either Kristy or Kelly, and it never came…and she was really upset. But she didn't blame them—she figured it was your dad's fault. She spent enough time playing at your house, I guess she knew what he was like."

Leslie nodded. "Michael Hamilton wasn't one to encourage his daughters to make friends," she recalled. "He didn't exactly forbid us from doing it, but he was never happy to come home and find one of us playing outside with a friend. It sounds so weird to hear you call him my dad, because I disowned him eons back."

"What for?" Spencer asked. "Where'd you go?"

"We moved to northern California," Leslie began, "a town called Susanville. Kristy and Kelly were just as upset about leaving Stephanie behind, and they did want to write letters, but Michael told them we couldn't afford to buy stamps so they could have a pen pal in a place they'd likely never see again." She sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, he was right." And she went on to tell Spencer the story of the Susanville house fire while he listened with eyes going wider and wider with shock and horror.

"Oh my God," Spencer said, aghast, when she finished. "When was this?"

"I was thirteen," Leslie said. "The only survivor, and I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I had visions of military-style orphanages and secondhand clothes and all kinds of awful things…and then Mom's will was read, and the next thing I knew I was on my way here to Fantasy Island." She then explained that part of her life to Spencer.

"And your mother arranged for that? A family curse and…" He blew out a breath and shook his head in disbelief. "Great Scott, if I'd known all that about you when we were kids in school together, I'm not sure I'd have believed it…but I'd have picked a fight with anybody who dared say you were lying."

Leslie grinned. "I bet you would have, too," she agreed. "Are you really sure you want to hear the rest?—because there's a heck of a lot more."

"Oh, wow," Spencer groaned, laughing. "Well, lay it on me." She giggled and told him about her growing up on the island, Roarke's formal adoption of her, and her marriage to Teppo, which seemed so long ago now. Spencer's eyes narrowed when she talked about him, but he nodded.

"That explains your remark about living in Europe. I've been to Finland. Did you ever manage to learn the language?"

"No, and it wasn't because Teppo didn't try to teach me. But I must be a dolt for languages, or at least for Finnish, because it just never sank in. Anyway, Teppo was killed just after our fifth wedding anniversary, and most of his family didn't really want me around, so I got out and returned here. Father was between assistants and hired me, and so here I am. Now…you got all that?"

Spencer snickered. "You could write a book. My life isn't anywhere close to as exciting as yours has been. Well, exciting and sad—you've lost a lot of people in your day. No wonder you seem so sad sometimes."

Leslie, startled, jerked her head up to stare at him. Did her old hurts really show that much, or was it just her fresh pain over Christian's loss that he had seen? "Oh…that's all water under the bridge," she murmured uneasily. "Hey, you ready to go?"

"Sure," Spencer said, watching her curiously. "Where to?"

"I feel like distracting myself," she said, "and I never seem to get to the amusement park except for business reasons. What say?"

"Bring it on," said Spencer with anticipation. "I could use some real fun for a change."

"Terrific," said Leslie, climbing to her feet. "I hope you don't mind getting wet. I'm planning to hit the log-flume ride a couple of times."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- January 7, 2000 – Lilla Jordsö

At precisely the same moment, twelve hours behind Fantasy Island, Christian was in the middle of a vivid dream. He and Marina had separate bedrooms, which was about the only thing that had kept Marina from murdering him in his sleep—for Christian's dreams were invariably filled with Leslie. Right at the moment he was reliving the night he'd made love to her, seeing everything exactly as it had actually happened; and his murmuring had grown loud enough to bring an exasperated Marina in from her bedroom.

"Enough," she snapped and shook Christian hard, bringing him awake with a very rude jolt. "Maybe you'd better find some other place to sleep, such as your office! I can't get any sleep myself because of all the noise you make."

"I can't help it," Christian said, breathing a little hard and perspiring freely. "I don't know how to stop these dreams, Marina, and I'm sure you know it and couldn't care less."

"That's true," Marina agreed. "As I said, you deserve it."

"I think we've established your take on the situation," Christian retorted sarcastically and glared at her. "If you have nothing even remotely kind to say, then just leave me alone."

"Happily," she shot back and left the room.

Christian pulled himself into a sitting position and then swung out of the rumpled bed, knowing sleep was probably a lost cause. Not that it mattered; he wasn't sure he really wanted to sleep again. Anna-Kristina hadn't spoken to him since the day he had delivered her to Arnulf; but word came back from other family members at the palace, and he was glad to know that Arnulf had given in on her demand to be freed from Asgar after both her sisters had testified to seeing the man's rude treatment of her. They were apparently still in discussions about transference of the succession; but Christian knew firsthand that Gabriella was aware of Anna-Kristina's wish to let her take the crown when the time came, and Gabriella was beside herself with delight and hope. Better, he thought, to have a queen who would gladly put her whole heart into the job than to have one who felt she was forced into the role. If only his own problems could be so easily solved.

He wandered out to the living room, booted up his computer and, on a whim, brought up an internet search engine and typed in "amakarna". Just as Fernando had said on New Year's Eve, very little came back. An internet encyclopedia was the first source listed, but the entry was woefully short and mostly focused on black lightning, the deceptively beneficial drug that was derived from the spice. Christian gave a sigh and went to check his e-mail, trying to squelch the ridiculous wish that he'd see something from Leslie there. Of course, he didn't. _It's your own fault, stupid,_ he reminded himself severely.

But he couldn't concentrate on the messages he did have. His mind stuck stubbornly on Leslie and refused to move, and glumly he let it have its way. Marina had just that day finally wormed it out of him that he'd made love with Leslie, and she had been so incensed that he'd thought her infuriated shrieks would break the windows. He could still hear her ranting even as he sat there. "You talked her into it—even got Mr. Roarke's blessing!—and yet you chose to leave her? Christian, you are without question the biggest idiot I've ever known! Don't you realize how that looks?"

"How it looks?" Christian had echoed blankly.

"She let you have your way with her, and when you finally got what you really wanted from her, you walked out on her," Marina had shouted.

Christian had been thoroughly shocked. "Is that how all women think, then? I wanted only to have the experience with her, just the once, knowing I would never have the opportunity again, and I wanted it for her as well. You won't let me touch you—not that I want to, mind you—and I refuse to seek out anyone else. And here you are suggesting that she may think I abandoned her!"

"That's exactly what you did!" Marina had retorted. "Yes, that's the way just about any woman would see it. If she had said no, would you still have left her?"

Christian was sure his face must have turned stark white with this even larger shock. Even now, thinking of it made him shudder. "No," he had roared back at her, losing his own temper, "that was never my intention! When Leslie told me that damned spice can't be grown on Fantasy Island, it was then that I began to think there was no hope—I had no intention of callously having my way with her, as you put it, and then walking away. I only meant to give us both something beautiful to remember all our lives, but you're making it sound sordid and calculated!"

"It _does_ sound sordid and calculated, you idiot!" Marina yelled. "Maybe you ought to ask Leslie herself what it looked like to her! I have no doubt she looks at it precisely the same way I do. What you think is a lovely memory may be permanently tainted in her eyes. What do you think of that?"

Christian had glared at her, then called her something quite nasty in _jordiska_, which had had no effect on her at all since she had never learned the language anyway. Now he sat and shook his head. Marina hadn't deserved that; she'd been right, although he had honestly never thought Leslie might see it the way Marina described it. To him, it had been the most beautiful and moving experience he'd ever known, and he had meant for it to be so for Leslie as well. Regret swamped him, and for the first time he began to think he might have had a moment's insanity in breaking off the relationship. _It's probably too late, though. Congratulations, Enstad, you've officially committed yourself to a lifetime of living without the one woman you'll ever truly love._ He rested his head in his hands and let the tears fall, as they had so many times that week.

§ § § -- January 8, 2000 – Fantasy Island

Spencer was treated to a round of Mariki's cooking—not to mention a healthy dose of her gruff concern for her two charges—that evening when he joined Roarke and Leslie for the meal. He watched in amazement as Mariki eyed Leslie sternly. "You'd better clean your plate, Miss Leslie," she said warningly.

"What, doesn't she always?" Spencer asked, honestly surprised. "She used to be a real trencherman at school lunch."

"Tattletale," said Leslie without much heat, and Mariki leaned over and peered back and forth at them both.

"Oh? And you knew her before?" she finally asked Spencer.

Spencer grinned. "I went to school with her in Connecticut," he said.

"Right," Leslie confirmed. "This is Spencer Gray, and Spence, this is our cook, Mariki. She's really all bluster though, so just ignore her."

"Hah," Mariki proceeded to bluster. "Mr. Roarke, you didn't teach this girl enough respect for her elders. Listen to her abusing me."

Roarke grinned at Spencer's astonished look. "This is normal, Spencer," he assured the younger man. "Mariki's afraid Leslie will continue to shun her food."

"I don't shun Mariki's cooking at all," Leslie protested. "Come on, Father, you know how I get."

"We all know how you get," said Mariki blackly. "Maybe she was a trencherman back in school, Mr. Gray, but now she doesn't eat the way she should."

Spencer surveyed Leslie with appreciation. "She looks just fine to me."

Mariki rolled her eyes and enlightened him while she put dishes on the table. "No, she doesn't. This skinny-skinny mentality just isn't right. Not only that, but when Miss Leslie gets depressed, she pretty much stops eating. She's done that ever since I've known her, and the previous cook said the same thing. Miss Leslie, I'm telling you right now, not eating isn't going to bring that man back. You've never understood how fortunate you are to be living here on this beautiful island, under Mr. Roarke's care, doing a job you love so much, with so many good friends. Instead you just focus on the wrongs that have happened in your life. I'm sure Mr. Roarke would tell you if you got him angry enough, but if you ask me, he's much too easy on you, so _I'm_ telling you. You need to think about the good things in your life, and for heaven's sake, forget about Christian. For all the things that foolish man has done to you, he'd better hope I never get my hands on him." She saw Roarke's mildly admonishing look and stood up straight, clearing her throat. "Well, that's my say on the matter. Enjoy your meal, everyone. Especially _you."_ This last, she directed at Leslie, complete with pointed finger, before leaving with her cart.

"Wow," said Spencer, astonished, staring after her. Something seemed to occur to him then and he turned to Leslie, a faint frown on his face. "Who's Christian?"

"Nobody special," Leslie said and lifted the cover to one dish. "Oh my. Spence, I hope you still like Italian. Mariki makes some mean pasta dishes, and I remember you ate spaghetti as if it were going to be outlawed the next day, when we were kids."

"I still do," Spencer said, after a quick glance at Roarke, who simply smiled. "Why, what'd she make?"

"Lasagna," Leslie said with relish, putting the dome aside. "This is going to be good, and I'm definitely eating my share. If Mariki complains after this meal, then there's something wrong with her."

That made Roarke and Spencer both laugh; but while Roarke allowed Leslie to change the subject, he could tell from Spencer's expression that this wouldn't be the end of the discussion of Christian. He rather hoped Spencer would eventually drag it out of Leslie; she really needed to talk to someone about it.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- January 9, 2000

"Hey, this really looks like a high-class place," said Spencer appreciatively, following Leslie into the casino on Sunday morning. "I bet you get dozens of high rollers in here."

"Yeah, we do have a lot of wealthy people," said Leslie. "They lose bigger than most people can dream of, and it's quite a source of revenue. It's helped keep the bungalows in top repair over the years. What's your weakness?"

"Oh, I stick with the slots," Spencer said. "There's a new Indian casino that's gone up in eastern Connecticut, actually, about an hour from home—it's called Foxwoods, and I've been there a couple times. I've won a little on the slots there but lost on everything else, so I guess the slots are my thing. You've got some here, I hope?"

"Follow me," Leslie said with a smile, and Spencer trailed her into a separate room whose walls reverberated with electronic glissandos and fanfares from several dozen slot machines. "Go to it. Since I'm an island employee I can't play, but I can watch you."

"Oh…so this place is for the guests only," Spencer remarked, finding an unattended machine and taking a seat. "Maybe that's as well. After all is said and done, gambling isn't the best way to entertain yourself. But I figure once in a blue moon can't hurt, as long as you have some common sense about it."

Leslie grinned and said, "My common sense tells me I'll lose if I bother, so that's the other thing that keeps me from gambling. Go ahead, and good luck."

After about an hour, when Spencer had won around fifty dollars, he decided he was better off quitting while he was ahead; so he cashed out, and he and Leslie made their way to the pool at their leisure. It was still early enough that it wasn't very crowded yet, and they easily found an unoccupied table. "Anything to drink?"

"Just some juice," said Leslie. "It's too early, and I'm working."

"Good Lord, girl, you're all business, aren't you?" Spencer teased. She chuckled, and he got up and headed for the bar. Leslie settled back in her seat and swept a quick glance around the pool area. Things were quiet at the moment; a few people were in the pool, and some others lay sunbathing or reading books. In just a minute or so, Spencer came back and set a glass in front of Leslie. "Hope you like pineapple juice."

"Sure," she said and took a sip while Spencer sat down.

Spencer fell quiet, looking a little contemplative while he nursed his glass; eventually he looked up at Leslie. "Were you really in love with your husband?"

Surprised by the question, Leslie said slowly, "Yes, I was. We were young—I was barely 20, and we married after only two weeks of knowing each other—but sometimes you just know when it's right. And it was right."

"Listen, tell me to shut up if you think I'm being nosy. But I was wondering how he got killed, and how you felt about it, and if you ever got over it."

"Oh, it's a long, stupid story, and you'd never believe it," Leslie said. "As to whether I got over it? Well, yes, I did. It took me a couple of years or so to really recover, but now I can look back and just think of the good times. He's buried here on the island, you know. It was his last request." That had been technically true, she reflected with inward amusement. "Teppo was the first guy I ever truly fell in love with, but when I think back on it, I'm sometimes surprised our marriage was as happy as it was. As I said, we were so young, and I was having a hard time fitting into his world and his culture. Sooner or later I have a feeling we'd have split up, because of that at least."

"No kids? Did you want any?" Spencer asked.

"We tried and tried, but for some reason I couldn't conceive," Leslie told him. "When he was killed, it was an advantage after all, because if I'd had a child, his family probably would have used the baby to keep me in Finland. In fact I think they were just as happy to see me go. So tell me, why the curiosity?"

Spencer settled back in his chair and released a long breath. "I've been debating this with myself all weekend, but I finally made up my mind that I might regret it if I don't try. Leslie, did you ever even suspect that ever since second grade, I've had a crush on you?"

Leslie's mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Her expression made Spencer grin wryly. "I guess not. Well, it's true. For a while, when I fell in love with Donna, my feelings for you were kind of wiped out. But then after the divorce…well, hey. Sometimes old flames turn into new ones, huh?"

"Sometimes," said Leslie softly, still dazed by this revelation. "You were always my friend, Spence. Don't tell me you don't remember how many times I yelled back at girls who kept taunting me that you were my boyfriend, telling them you weren't."

"Oh, I remember all right," Spencer said, watching her intently, "and to tell you the truth, I used to wish like hell that you'd stop doing that."

"Spence, we were little kids," Leslie protested.

"You think that kind of feeling can't survive childhood?" Spencer asked humorously. "Well, in my case, it did. Look, Leslie, you don't have to say anything right now. Just think about it for awhile, okay? You can let me know later on. All I ask is that you tell me before I leave here, just so I know I haven't destroyed our friendship at the very least."

Leslie laughed reluctantly. "Aw, you could never do that. Okay, give me some time, but Spence, please, don't set your hopes too high. The last thing I want to do is hurt a friend. I'm a little surprised Father didn't tell you anything."

"I'd rather hear it from you," Spencer said. "Okay, okay, we'll drop it for now. I feel like a swim. Where's a good beach?"

‡ ‡ ‡

Over a late lunch that afternoon around one-thirty, Roarke studied his silent daughter, taking in her troubled mien. "I think," he said, "before you forget to eat and incur Mariki's ire yet again, you'd better talk to me."

His humorous delivery made her smile, and she sighed. "Well, to be honest, it'd feel a lot better to talk about it. Father, Spencer told me a couple hours ago or so that he's had a crush on me since we were seven years old."

"I suspected as much," Roarke said. "What about you?"

Leslie shook her head regretfully. "No, he was always just my childhood best friend. It was like that from the start. Remember yesterday at the plane dock, when I mentioned I was always telling girls he wasn't my boyfriend? It was true. He was my best friend, and when the fire happened and we moved to Susanville, I missed him the way the twins missed his sister—the prospect of leaving old friends behind and having to make new ones. You know how it is. And when he came here yesterday morning, I was thrilled to death to connect with a friend again. But that's all."

Roarke nodded and said, "I understand, believe me. Have you told him?"

"No…I mean, I really wanted to reciprocate, that's the craziest thing. Spence is such a terrific guy—I think his ex-wife must be some kind of imbecile to give him up. Maybe if the timing had been different…" Leslie shrugged and gave him a defeated look. "But it's been only a week since Christian broke things off, and frankly, it's impossible for me to just turn off my emotions like I would a faucet. I'm still in love with Christian, and I have a feeling I always will be. I'm sure you think that's ridiculous, but…"

"Oh, not necessarily," said Roarke. "However, you're perfectly justified, child. I do think having Spencer here has been good for you; your spirits have risen greatly, and I'm much less worried about you as long as you're in Spencer's company. That doesn't mean, of course, that you're obligated to fall in love with him. Even if it were possible to force such emotions, I personally feel it's not a very wise thing to do."

Leslie nodded, taking in his words, and stared out over the duck pond for a moment before saying softly, "I guess I'd better tell him the truth. And that probably means I'll have to explain about Christian."

"I think he'll understand," Roarke said. "As long as you are honest with him, Leslie, that's all that matters. You're much better off being up-front with him."

"Yeah, I think so too." Through another sigh Leslie said gratefully, "Thanks, Father. I actually do feel better. I mean, I'm dreading letting poor Spence down, but at least now I know what I need to do."

§ § § -- January 9, 2000 – Lilla Jordsö

"_Please, Christian,_ _noooooooo!"_

Jolted awake by the sound of Leslie's plaintive cry in his dream, Christian convulsed so sharply that the whole bed rocked. He lifted his head, dripping with sweat, panting as if he'd just run a marathon, eyes huge and wild. It was just the latest of an entire string of dreams he'd had that week that had ended the same way—with the last words he'd heard from Leslie.

Sleep would be impossible for some time, he knew, so he got up and wandered into the living room, where he paced frenetically back and forth, burning off nervous energy. After a while he began to consider sending an e-mail. Should he, shouldn't he? Most of an hour passed before he finally made the decision to give it a try. The worst that could happen was that it would bounce back to him, he thought, if Leslie had gone so far as to block his messages from coming into her inbox. He drew in a deep fortifying breath and took his seat in front of the computer, booting it up, signing into his e-mail account and pulling up a new message. Then he froze: he could feel himself chickening out.

Before he completely lost his nerve, he typed Roarke's e-mail address into the top bar, then carefully composed his missive, hoping he sounded sufficiently diffident. _Probably not: Mr. Roarke sees through everything. But it's worth a shot,_ he thought.

Hello, Mr. Roarke:

I hope everything is well with the computers. Have there been any glitches or problems in the wake of the Y2K phenomenon? Admittedly, it turned out to be mostly a huge false alarm, but one can never be too careful. If you need any assistance, I'll be more than glad to help.

Sincerely, Christian

P.S. By the way, how is Leslie?

He clicked the _send_ button and then slumped back in his seat, wondering what kind of results he would get. At least he had tried…


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- January 9, 2000 – Fantasy Island

It was a little past two in the afternoon and Leslie had gone off for a few errands. It gave Roarke a chance to check the business messages on the computer. He scrolled through a few nonessential ones, then stopped in surprise when he saw a most unexpected e-mail address.

A slow smile crossed Roarke's handsome features. "So," he murmured, very pleased. "Excellent!" He clicked on the message to open it and read it, his smile widening when he took in the sparse postscript. So his hunch had been right after all.

Roarke sat back in his chair, the smile fading, and considered his reply. There had been so much going on in the past year, between Paola's misdeeds, his illness and Leslie's ongoing separation from the man she loved, there was a lot for him to consider. Sometimes he had the impression that someone was trying to tell him something. It was a lot to think about, and he decided logically that the best thing to do was just to tackle one thing at a time, beginning with the easiest. And this was that item.

Before he had completed formulating a reply, though, there came a knock on the door, and Rogan Callaghan let himself in. "Hello, uncle," he said.

"Welcome back, Rogan," Roarke replied. "How was your trip?"

"Fruitful," said Rogan cheerfully. "I'm going to have a very good time with these plants, no doubt about it. I got some wonderful saffron plants to nurture, and Julie'll be thrilled. She's got some peculiar recipes that call for the stuff, and I thought at least this way she can find out if they're actually any good." Grinning at Roarke's amused look, he added, "I've got four or five other odd plants as well that I want to experiment with. I'll have them quarantined in the greenhouse so that they don't suddenly sprout wild all over the island."

"Very good," said Roarke. "I'm glad your journey was such a success. I assume you're planning to specialize in unusual plants in order to give your business a niche."

"Exactly," Rogan confirmed, "and I don't believe I'll have too much trouble getting started. I collected some soil from around Mount Tutumoa—volcanic soil is amazingly fertile. I should have that saffron going in no time." He happened to notice the grandfather clock. "Ach—I'd best get home to Julie and the lad. I'm sure Rory's grown two inches and five pounds since I left." He departed, whistling.

Smiling in farewell, Roarke returned his attention to the computer and the message that waited there. _Very well, young man, let's see what sort of response this gets from you._ He typed quickly, sent the message and chuckled to himself before investigating the possible urgency of the others in his inbox.

§ § § -- Lilla Jordsö

The computer beeped softly and Christian sat up in surprise. It couldn't be…but yes, it was: a reply from Fantasy Island. It seemed Roarke, at least, was willing to communicate with him—or perhaps that's only his innate courtesy to everyone, even the idiot who dumped his daughter, Christian thought with black humor. He shrugged and opened the message. What he read made him gasp.

_Good evening, Christian,_

_I see you are awake quite late—very diligent! I appreciate your inquiry regarding the website; as you mentioned, the "Y2K" phenomenon was a false alarm in general, and it has been so here also._

_Leslie is as well as can be expected. In fact, this weekend she has been entertaining a childhood friend by the name of Spencer Gray—a very likeable young man who seems quite enamored of Leslie. I believe his visit has done her much good._

_Once again, thank you for your concern._

_Sincerely, Roarke_

Christian cursed softly, almost unaware he'd spoken, a crazy series of hot-and-cold sensations engulfing his body in endless turns. Reason and logic fled him: he had meant for Leslie to find someone who was actually free to give her all the things she deserved, but now that it had actually happened, he couldn't accept it. Letting Leslie go had been a tremendous mistake—perhaps the worst and costliest he had ever made. Could she truly have fallen for another man so quickly? It didn't seem possible.

Well, he wasn't about to stand idly by and let it happen. Common sense and practicality be damned: Christian wanted his Leslie back, and he was not only willing but fully prepared to go to all necessary lengths to get her. To that end, there was only one option to take, and he took it without further ado. Swiftly he hit the reply button.

_Dear Mr. Roarke,_

_I am returning to Fantasy Island. By the time you receive this I'll be on my way to the airport. It makes no difference to me where I sleep—whether there's an empty hotel room, a free bungalow, a cot on your veranda or a tent in the jungle, I don't care. No matter what, I'm coming back. I should be there sometime tomorrow._

_Christian_

He sent the message, signed out, shut his computer down and strode into his bedroom. There he flipped on the ceiling light, pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, and began to pack as quickly as he could move.

Within a minute Marina appeared in the doorway. "Where are you off to?" she asked him.

"Fantasy Island," said Christian tersely, "and I'll be gone indefinitely."

Marina stared at him, brightening with hope for the first time. Perhaps this royal fool she was married to was finally seeing the light, she thought. Watching him, she crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the doorjamb and said casually, "I'll tell Arnulf you've gone around the bend and I had you committed."

"Yes, that's fine," mumbled Christian, his mind unable to focus on anything but his desperate purpose. "That should be enough clothing if I can make use of a laundry." He looked up then at Marina. "Arnulf will just have to accept my prolonged absence. Maybe I can try to set up a side business on the island, as insurance for the future, but in any case I've worked enough this week and I need my time off. And I'm going to appeal to Leslie and see if she can forgive me. I'll be in touch." He slammed the suitcase shut and yanked it off the bed, half running out of the room.

Marina smiled broadly. "I'll have Arnulf send you a monogrammed straitjacket," she called after his retreating form.

"Of course, anything," Christian's voice floated back from the living room. He paused only long enough to don his winter overcoat and the first pair of shoes he came across, then left the flat.

Only then did Marina give full voice to her mirth. Not only had he paid no attention at all to anything she had said, he'd left the apartment in his pajamas! Wheezing with mirth, she made a note to give Anna-Kristina a phone call in the morning and let her know what was afoot, and returned to her bed, confident that he would win his woman back. She'd never seen a love quite like Christian's for Leslie Hamilton.

§ § § -- Fantasy Island

The reply from Christian surprised Roarke; the prince must have been hovering over his computer. He read the message, then dropped back in his seat, laughing. Just on a whim, he decided not to tell Leslie. Whatever her reaction at first sight of him, it was bound to be more volatile for its spontaneity; and besides, he thought Christian could benefit from having to deal with Leslie in anger. As much as he liked the prince, he felt Leslie deserved the chance to vent on him. He didn't bother sending a reply; instead he deleted the missive and carefully controlled his amusement to answer the ringing telephone.

‡ ‡ ‡

By the time Leslie completed her errands, she felt about as ready as she could ever hope to be to explain things to Spencer. The thought of hurting him upset her; she didn't want to lose touch with her old friend, and at the moment she really needed an impartial party. Her friends here on the island were semi-aware of her lingering unhappiness; but they thought it was because of Christian's departure. She simply hadn't been able to bring herself to explain what he'd done before leaving: she'd had more than enough of their well-intentioned outrage and avowals of revenge when they'd found out he was married, and atop that, Mariki was still full of black-voiced mutterings about what she was going to do to him if he ever came within range of her fists.

But she did need to tell someone, and Spencer was the perfect one. She would have had to tell him anyway; if he hadn't changed from the protective best friend she remembered, he'd certainly be outraged on her behalf, and he might judge, but he'd be a source of comfort first and foremost.

So she drove to Spencer's bungalow and knocked on the door, mustering up a small smile when he opened it. He grinned. "Hi, Leslie, come on in."

She slipped past him into the interior, settling uneasily into a chair in the main room and trying to figure out how to begin. Spencer followed her and took a chair nearby. "Are you okay?" he asked, finally really seeing her pensive expression.

Leslie looked up and drew in a deep breath that shuddered only a little. "Spence, about our little talk at the pool…" she began hesitantly.

Spencer lifted a hand; her demeanor told him all he needed to know. "You just want to be friends," he said.

Leslie nodded. "It sounds so stupid and clichéd, but I'm afraid it's true. You see…it's not so much because of you. If your timing had been different, maybe the situation would've been different too. But I'm…well, I mean, there's someone else. Or there _was_ someone else, but he's still got my heart."

"Who…wait a minute," Spencer said, something coming back to him. "Is this that Christian guy that your cook mentioned yesterday?"

"Yup," Leslie murmured unhappily, her head falling and her hair sliding forward like curtains around her face. "Spence, I hate doing this to you. I feel awful."

"It's not your fault," Spencer said promptly, wrapping a hand over her forearm. "You're not over this guy, and I was only half listening yesterday when you told me I'm your friend, with all that emphasis. Tell me about him, Leslie. How long's it been since it ended?"

"Only a week," Leslie said and ducked her head farther still, but not before Spencer caught the liquid sparkle in her eyes and leaned sharply forward.

"Leslie, are you crying?" he asked, shocked. "You never cried, not that I remember. It wasn't allowed."

She shook her head and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Michael Hamilton thought tears were a stupid female weakness, and his girls weren't going to be allowed to shed any. Just to reinforce the point, he'd hit us if we ever started to cry. It made Kelly rebellious and Kristy a terminal scaredy-cat, and I just learned to internalize my emotions." Her tears spilled over. "That's how I was when I first came here, and Father had to teach me to let those feelings out so they wouldn't make me sick."

"Mr. Roarke really saved your life, in a way, didn't he," Spencer said softly. "For that, if nothing else, I'm grateful to him. Aw, Leslie, it's okay. Come here." He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then drew her into a hug that she was more than grateful to return. It broke through her fragile control and she began to cry into his shoulder; he stood patiently and absorbed her tears, patting her back.

When the worst of the storm was past, he stepped back a pace and studied her. "Tell me about him."

She swiped at her face, with little effect, and began, "Well, you better hold onto your hat. Christian isn't just any ordinary guy—he's Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö. We met a few years ago when he came here to design and set up the island website." And she told him the whole story, with Spencer injecting an astonished question here and there, until she finally concluded, "So that's why he told me what he did last weekend. I understand what he was trying to do, but he forgot to ask me how I felt about it." She gave him a shaky smile, and he chuckled.

"Brother, Leslie, you run in some pretty lofty circles. Listen, it makes no difference if I think Prince Christian is a fool or what. I can see where he must've been coming from, but I do have one question for you. Do you regret his making love to you?"

"No," Leslie said decisively. "I wanted it as much as he did, and I refuse to regret it. I just wish he hadn't decided it was time to give up. See, Spence, the thing that really gets me is that he lost faith. I'd give him hell for it, but right now I'm not really ready to contact him, even over e-mail. Maybe someday I'll ask him why, but for the moment…"

Spencer nodded understanding. "It's okay, Leslie." He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Okay, so maybe my crush on you ended up going nowhere, but I'm glad we're still friends. Someday I'll bring Daniel and Lesley here to meet you, so they can hear goofy stories of do-you-remember-when." They both laughed and hugged each other again. "If you ever need anything, Leslie, no matter what or when, just give me a yell, and I'll do anything it's in my power to do."

"You're the greatest," Leslie said softly. "Thanks, Spence, and I'm so glad we reconnected." Her smile when she left the bungalow a few minutes later was genuine and reminiscent.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- January 10, 2000

Roarke watched Spencer and Leslie face each other at the plane dock Monday morning, both a little wistful, but smiling all the same. "You promise you'll keep in touch?" asked Spencer a little urgently.

"I promise," said Leslie softly. "No matter what." She deliberately stepped forward and hugged him. "Be safe, Spence, and be happy. I'll miss you."

Spencer grinned. "Aw, you'll hardly have time, between your job and your friends and just plain living here. You know, for a kid who had so much tragedy in her life, you sure came out on top. Your Mariki was right."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Roarke raised an eyebrow with meaning, and she turned red, getting the message clearly. "Okay, okay," Leslie grumbled, "but for heaven's sake, don't tell Mariki, or she'll gloat till the moon turns blue."

Spencer joined in Roarke's laughter and shook hands with him. "Mr. Roarke, I thank you for everything—your generous hospitality, the chance to reconnect with Leslie, and your gracious tolerance of me and my desperate little request to recapture some of my childhood in the first place."

"You're very welcome, Spencer, and you are also welcome to return any time you wish," said Roarke warmly. Spencer smiled in reply, winked at Leslie, then headed for the plane, hands in his pockets, except for his final pause to wave at them. A moment later he disappeared through the seaplane's hatch.

"I _am_ going to miss him, Father," said Leslie slowly, as if surprised. "I never thought anybody from that far back would remember me."

"Ah, but my child, you tend to make an impression on some people," remarked Roarke. "You certainly made one on Spencer." He smiled, his dark eyes aglow.

" 'Some people'?" echoed Leslie suspiciously.

Roarke merely held the smile. "We have quite a bit to do today," was all he said. "There's a large list of errands for you, and the sooner you start, the sooner you'll finish." Leslie made a halfhearted face and trailed him to the car. It was plain that her father had something up his sleeve, but that seemed to happen so often that she half took it for granted, no matter how much it tended to irritate her.

‡ ‡ ‡

Throughout the afternoon Leslie had an increasing sense that someone was watching her; that, coupled with the impression that Roarke had a secret, was beginning to distract her from the things she was supposed to be doing. Roarke hadn't been kidding when he'd said the list of errands he had for her was large: it had taken her most of the day to do them, and now near suppertime, she still had two left. She hadn't even been able to stop for lunch. Not that it had mattered much; her appetite, always dicey when she was emotional, hadn't returned even in Spencer's presence, with the exception of Mariki's lasagna dinner two nights before. Leslie was giving some tentative thought to supper as she trudged across the now-quiet clearing where the luaus were usually held, though she figured she probably wouldn't bother, when someone stepped out from behind a tree a few feet in front of her.

Sunset was just recent enough that the remaining light permitted her to see who it was, and she stopped short and gaped, stricken. _I should've eaten after all,_ Leslie thought, vaguely horrified. _I'm hallucinating. There really _was_ something to all Mariki's harassment…_

Christian read her expression and smiled wryly. "No, my Leslie Rose, I'm no ghost," he assured her before the smile vanished. "Just because you wish I were, even here, doesn't make it true. I'm going to follow you from here and make sure you break things off with this Spencer Gray person."

Leslie's stricken look went bewildered and slightly offended. "Break what things off?" she asked, still too startled to give him the blasting he had coming to him. "Spencer left here this morning, and we're friends, but that's it." Her senses suddenly snapped back into place and she began to see some red. "What's it to you anyway? You put an end to anything between us last weekend, remember?"

"All too well," said Christian and winced. "It was the most egregious error I ever committed. My life has been pure hell ever since then. Anna-Kristina hasn't spoken to me in over a week, and Marina has done nothing but shout at me and insult me by turns. I can't concentrate on anything I do, least of all my business. I spend all night, every night, dreaming about you…when I manage to sleep at all." He blew out his breath. "I seem to remember Marina mentioning committing me, or something like that, just before I left."

"You should be committed, all right," Leslie agreed sardonically, surveying him, "at the very least for wearing that overcoat in a tropical climate like this."

"Tell me," said Christian, his voice flat and devoid of hope, "would you be worried if I suffered heatstroke while wearing this, or would you just shrug and walk away and say it's only what I deserve?"

Stung, Leslie exploded at last. "It might be what you deserve all right, Christian Carl Tobias Enstad, but that was still a pretty cruel thing to say! You think your life's been hell? I can't eat, and Mariki's probably warning Father that she's going to tie me to my chair and force-feed me my next meal. My sleep's been shot right to hell—are you so blind you don't see these dark circles? Tabitha asked me the other day if someone had given me two black eyes. I'm lucky I'm still performing my job with any degree of competence. You really had some nerve, Christian, dropping that bomb on me last Sunday and walking off without even looking back! Who do you think you are to just throw all this away, expect me to accept it, then come back here and lay claim on me the second you think I've got a new man in my life?"

"Your father told me—" Christian began.

"Yeah, I'm sure Father mentioned Spence to you, although for the life of me I don't see why. Damn it, Christian, you never answered me that day. _Why?_ And I don't mean why did you break it off: I mean, why did you lose faith?"

Christian, looking defeated, half turned away and hung his head. "Because of your father's reasons for banning amakarna from Fantasy Island."

Leslie stared at him, uncomprehending. "Want to embellish on that a little?"

"Not so much that it killed his parents, though I can understand his reaction in the wake of that," Christian said in a very weary voice. "More that he discovered it's impossible to grow the miserable stuff in the soil here. Leslie, please, consider my point of view for just one moment, never mind the madness that drove me to act upon it. Tell me how on earth one is to defeat Mother Nature? Something's in this dirt that prevents amakarna from taking root. Even the most dedicated green thumb can't circumvent that, and if your father can't do it either, then it's impossible. It was as if the very last chance for us had been sealed off. It so discouraged me that I began to think the unthinkable—to lose faith, as you said. To give up hope."

"Well, I didn't," said Leslie stonily.

Christian whirled on her, swaying slightly on his feet. "Are you that much of a saint, Leslie? Don't tell me you've never entertained the thought yourself!"

She fell silent, looking guiltily away. After a long tense moment or two she admitted, "The thought did cross my mind on a few occasions. But," she flared up again, "I never acted on it—I couldn't bear to!"

"So that gives you the right to be self-righteous about it?" Christian demanded. "Well enough, Leslie, if you're trying to tell me I came back here for nothing, why don't you just come right out and tell me?"

"I'm not trying to tell you that!" Leslie shouted, her leftover guilt making her overly self-defensive. "All I wanted were some answers!"

"And I gave them to you," Christian shot right back. "What else do you want, my blood?"

Leslie wished she had something to throw. "Are you sorry you came here, since I'm apparently being so difficult?"

Christian gave his head a couple of violent shakes; his swaying was growing more pronounced. "No, I'm not—I'd be sorry only if I gave up again and just left. I promised myself I'd stay till I could win you back, and longer if I had to…for that matter, I told Marina…" His gaze shifted momentarily from hers and he blinked exaggeratedly a couple of times, as if dazed, while Leslie stared at him. Frowning with effort, he doggedly continued on. "…I told Marina to let Arnulf know I'd be here indefinitely. Might set up an offshoot of my business here…if Mr. Roarke says okay…could sleep in the jungle…" His voice grew faint and trailed off, and all at once he staggered aside and fell to the ground in a heap. Leslie shrieked.

"Christian, oh my God! Are you awake?" she cried, dropping to her knees and trying to unbutton his overcoat. "You really are getting heatstroke, aren't you? Oh God, I didn't mean it! Say something, Christian, are you awake?"

"Barely," Christian mumbled, stubbornly trying to sit up, without much success. "Left Lilla Jordsö…middle of the night yesterday morning. Couldn't sleep. Didn't sleep…noisy airports…_bytta' flygplan sju gånger…ville bara se dig…"_ While he lapsed into slurred _jordisk-svenska_, Leslie finally got the last button undone and threw aside the coat panels. She fell back on her heels and stared at him again while Christian concluded, almost clearly, _"Måste sova_…must sleep, I mean…"

"Well, you're dressed for it," Leslie said dryly, studying Christian's rumpled pajamas. "I don't think I believe this. You left Lilla Jordsö when, again?"

"Two-thirty yesterday morning. Hate all airports," muttered Christian, half in a stupor. "Haven't slept in…"

"Thirty hours!" shouted Leslie incredulously, doing the chronological conversions in her head. "Are you completely insane?"

Christian squinted blearily up at her. "Must be, everyone keeps asking me that," he remarked hazily.

Leslie, unable to take her eyes off him, slowly began to shake her head, grinning, then snickering, then laughing—and then bursting into tears. "You idiot," she wailed. "You're making me as crazy as you are. You practically killed yourself to get here because of me?"

Christian looked confused, quite like a child who hasn't yet completely awakened from a nap. "Course I did, I love you," he said in bewilderment. "Tried to live without you, but I can't. I love you, y'know." Leslie broke down entirely, and he forced his exhausted body into a crouched position that matched hers, enfolding her into a snug embrace. _"Gråt inte, älskling min, allt är nu rätt med världen,"_ he assured her, completely unaware in his sleep-deprived fog that he'd relapsed into his native tongue. Not that it mattered to Leslie; just the sound of his voice was enough for her.

But when Christian began to droop, she sat up in teary alarm. "I need to get you to a bed somewhere," she said, her mind racing. "Oh God…and everything's full!"

"Sleep in the jungle," mumbled Christian.

"In the _jungle?_ Well, that proves your insanity at any rate," said Leslie only half jokingly. Christian shook his head again and she grew serious. "I left the jeep on the Ring Road. Come on, Christian, my love, it's not far, but I can't carry you. You've got to walk."

"Walked two hours today looking for you," said Christian in a dreamy, faraway voice while Leslie climbed to her feet and gave him a hand in regaining his. "You always drive away in your car. Cannot catch you. You see me never, and I believe I am in…in-viss…you not see me."

Leslie rolled her eyes, her heart full, her emotions oddly triggered anew by his thickening accent and deteriorating English. "Stop babbling and let's go. I've got you." But Christian continued murmuring as though to himself, first in English with Swedish syntax, then in Swedish itself.

He'd fallen silent by the time she pulled up in front of the main house, and she cast him an anxious glance; his head had fallen back and his eyes were closed. "Christian?" she ventured.

Christian started violently and looked wildly around. _"Va' händer? Var är jag?"_

"Oh you," said Leslie softly, smiling despite herself. "Come on, my love, into the house with you."

She more or less walked him across the porch and into the foyer. Roarke looked up when they entered, then rose slowly from his chair and stared in amazement at Christian. "Leslie, what happened?" he exclaimed.

"He found me, Father, in the luau clearing. He's dead on his feet," Leslie explained in a breathless rush. "I just remembered we have no vacancies—all these winter vacationers, you know—but he says he hasn't slept since he left home, and he mentioned sleeping in the jungle twice, and I really think this overcoat of his is giving him heatstroke—he's been delirious and falling down and—"

Roarke held up his hands. "Wait, Leslie, wait. He hasn't slept since leaving home, you say?"

Christian's half-closed eyes fluttered and he said unexpectedly, "Hate all airports. Too noisy. Plane change seven times—told Leslie before. Oh, is that a jungle out there? Said I'd sleep there…" He began to lurch toward the open French shutters.

An uncontrollable grin broke out on Roarke's features while Leslie lunged after Christian and caught him by the coat collar, only to have him walk right out of the garment and proceed to the terrace. "Christian!" she exclaimed and grabbed his arm impatiently. When Roarke started to laugh, she threw him a scolding look and admonished, "Father, this isn't funny!" Meantime Christian, still walking and apparently unaware he was attached to Leslie, swung in a drunken circle and stumbled to a halt, blinking again and once more shaking his head hard.

"It'll seem funny later, sweetheart," Roarke said with a reassuring grin. "Christian's problem is sleep deprivation, not heatstroke. Just put him in the spare room upstairs—I'll have Mariki prepare the futon in there. Try to keep him awake a little longer." He hastened out from behind the desk and hurried off to the kitchen.

Christian yawned so widely his jaw cracked. "Leslie? Is that you? Oh, no, I'm dreaming again…"

"No you're not," Leslie said, "and I'll prove it to you." She pulled his head down and kissed him. As if by reflex, Christian's arms closed around her and he responded, so ardently that by the time Roarke came back with Mariki, he and Leslie seemed glued together.

"Well, well, well. I apologize for doubting you, sir, but I still say that young man has plenty to answer for," Mariki announced tartly.

Leslie broke the kiss and eyed Mariki darkly. "I'm well aware you'd like to see him dead, but—"

"Hey, come back," Christian protested like a little boy, his unfocused eyes apparently searching for something. Leslie turned back to give him another surprised stare, then again to the cook.

"He's about to pass out," she said urgently. "Save it for later, Mariki, all right?"

"Hah. Just for you, Miss Leslie," said Mariki and headed upstairs, grumbling the whole way.

Christian said brightly, "She wants to shoot me."

"She's gonna have to get in line," said Leslie, but her heart really wasn't in it. He was curiously appealing in his sleep-deprived mania, and she had to laugh at herself. "But I won't let her. At least not till tomorrow morning."

Roarke couldn't keep back his laughter. "Leslie Susan, I daresay Christian has been punished quite enough," he suggested. "I think, in his current condition, that by the time we get him upstairs, Mariki will have long since had the futon ready. It's very fortunate he's already dressed for bed." This dry observation drew a giggle from Leslie before she realized something.

"Father, he must have come with luggage," she exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"Oh, it's here," Roarke told her, taking one of Christian's arms and, with Leslie, leading the delirious prince to the stairs. "He came here first, looking for you, and it wasn't until he had left that I realized there wasn't a vacant structure anywhere on the island. So his things are already upstairs waiting for him."

They got Christian up the steps and to the spare room, enduring the occasional sleepy comment in Swedish all the way there, and found Mariki just turning back the covers. "Well," the cook said sourly as they came in, "it's all ready for that young fool, though I don't think he deserves—"

"_Mariki," _said Roarke and Leslie warningly, in perfect synchrony.

"Shut up," Christian grunted in the startled silence that followed, and Leslie began to laugh helplessly. Mariki threw her hands in the air, gave up and departed without another word, and amid their chortling Roarke and Leslie guided Christian to the futon and sat him down on it.

"There," said Roarke, "I'll let you handle the rest, Leslie. When you're finished, come down for dinner." She nodded, and he left the room.

"Shut up," Christian said again, this time pleadingly. "Trying to sleep."

"I know, my love," Leslie said soothingly and threw back the covers. "Come on, lie down now." Obediently he stretched out on the mattress and smiled faintly before releasing a small contented sigh and falling instantly into a very deep sleep. Leslie shook her head indulgently, wearily amused, and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips before covering him and leaving the room.  
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_Final chapter this week, I promise! Maybe by the time I have a new story ready to go, my ridiculous computer problems will be solved. Again, thanks to everybody for bearing with me all this time…_


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- January 11, 2000

She couldn't resist slipping soundlessly on bare feet to the half-open door of the TV room, where Christian still slept heavily. Sometime during the night he'd flopped over onto his stomach, and one hand had slid off the mattress and dangled on the floor. Leslie stood fascinated for a while, just looking at him; she'd never seen Christian asleep till now, and the sight gave rise to wistful daydreams of what married life would be like with this man.

She would have liked to go in and sit with him, but she didn't want to wake him up. He might snooze half the day away, after all the sleep he had lost over the weekend. Sighing softly, she returned to her own room, made the bed and got dressed, and went down to join Roarke at the breakfast table.

"Christian's still asleep, then?" Roarke greeted her.

Leslie smiled a little wistfully. "I guess he'll be down for a while yet," she said. "I was just thinking—Christian said last evening that he said he was staying till he got me back. Well, he did…so now what?"

Roarke paused to stare at her. "I hope you're merely joking, my dear daughter," he said ominously.

Leslie shrugged sheepishly. "Actually, now that I think about it, he also said he left a message for the king that he's staying indefinitely. And that could be weeks." She met Roarke's gaze. "I suppose my real question is whether he'll have to move to a bungalow or the hotel, or wind up being our house guest all that time." The last clause came out tentatively, as if she were bracing herself for Roarke's reaction.

Roarke paused again. "Indeed?" was his only response.

Leslie waited, but he said no more, and she finally shrugged one shoulder. "Just wondering."

"I think," said Roarke indulgently, "that the best thing to do is wait until Christian is awake, and we can discuss the matter then."

Mariki appeared at that point with a pitcher. "Well," she said to Leslie, "I suppose your young fool is going to be here a while yet."

Something in Leslie gave way and she rose from the table, pinning Mariki with a sharp glare while Roarke looked on with amusement. "All right, that's enough," she said. "You've called Christian every possible name in English and some in Hawaiian, and you've made I-don't-know-how-many threats about bodily harm on I-don't-know-how-many occasions. You haven't stopped carrying on about what tortures he deserves, and how you, personally, intend to punish him, since he left here over a week ago. He's back and we've made up, and you're _still_ referring to him as 'that young fool'. Well, guess what—I've had it. I've just plain reached my limit. There's a line between being protective and being rude, and you've long since crossed it. I know you're acting out of concern for me, but I'm a big girl now and I'd like to think I've developed a little common sense."

Mariki had been gawking at her this entire time. "Now, Miss Leslie, you know I only want—"

"I know you do," Leslie cut her off. "But let me tell you something—I won't stand for you using Christian as a punching bag anymore. I love that man, and he loves me—I know he does, because he endured eight separate flights to get here to me, and lost far more sleep than was good for him, and never even got to change out of his pajamas, for crying out loud!"

"You still love him, after everything he—" Mariki blurted.

"Yes!" Leslie broke in again, her ire beginning to rise, and started advancing on a now-alarmed Mariki. "I love him, you understand? I'll always love him. Someday he's going to be my husband, and as such, I refuse to put up with any more name-calling, threats or hairy eyeballs out of you! Am I making myself clear?"

Mariki, stunned, goggled at her, then looked at Roarke, as though seeking an appeal. Roarke made a point of concentrating on his breakfast; and Mariki, realizing she was getting no support there, finally capitulated. "All right, Miss Leslie, if you insist," she said reluctantly.

"I do insist," Leslie assured her blackly. "Maybe you don't have to like the situation. Maybe you don't even have to like Christian. But you'd better put a lid on all the sniping."

"Very well," sighed Mariki and left. Leslie waited till she was gone before blowing out a breath and resuming her seat.

Roarke looked up and smiled at her. "Well done, Leslie."

She gave him a surprised look and said, "You didn't mind me scolding her?"

"Frankly," confessed Roarke, "I was beginning to tire of her relentless criticism of Christian myself." They both laughed. "Why don't you enjoy your breakfast."

"Am I too late to join you?" someone asked, and they looked around at Christian, who was clad in a T-shirt that had Lilla Jordsö's flag on the front and denim shorts, but was barefoot. He'd combed his hair, but as he approached, they could see a two-day stubble on his face; and he still looked a little sleepy.

But Roarke smiled, as if Christian were dressed in a business suit. "Not at all, Christian. Good morning."

Christian stopped beside the table and returned Roarke's greeting. "And you look better, my Leslie Rose, as if you finally got a good night's sleep."

"I did, and I think you did too, my love," Leslie remarked. "In fact, I thought you'd sleep till lunchtime."

"It's already nearly nine," noted Roarke. "I believe it was approximately seven when you put him to bed last evening, so perhaps he's slept enough."

"I don't know about that," said Christian, yawning. "Excuse me. My sleep has been so poor lately that it may take me a few days to really catch up. But at least I can think straight now. I can only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked to you two last evening."

Leslie regarded him with a devilish glint in her eye. "All I want to know is, how come you wore your pajamas here? Were all your clothes in the wash?"

They all laughed, and Christian shrugged, taking a seat. "From the moment I decided to come here, I had tunnel vision—couldn't think of anything except my, uh, mission. I'm afraid I walked out of my flat in those very pajamas. And I packed only one bag—which, like a fool, I checked. I had nothing to change into during any of my numerous layovers, and at any rate it didn't occur to me to buy something. Probably an early symptom of my lack of sleep." He thought back over the previous two days. "My mind was elsewhere, and I have no doubt that every tabloid in the US and Europe has printed numerous photos of the crazy runaway prince in his overcoat and pajamas, looking wild-eyed and manic, and perhaps a little murderous."

"Murderous?" echoed Leslie curiously.

"I was on a plane to London before I realized what I was wearing," said Christian. "After that I could only think, _Let just one person dare ask me about my clothing, especially some celebrity-rag tattletale, and I'll kill him."_

They laughed again, and Christian and Leslie both began to load their plates. Roarke took the opportunity to change the subject. "Since it appears you two have patched things up," he said, "Leslie was wondering how long you intend to remain. You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you wish; but I must warn you that this is our busiest time of year, and we anticipate no vacancies for at least another two months. Therefore, I see no alternative but that you remain our houseguest."

Christian looked startled. "Mr. Roarke," he exclaimed, "future son-in-law or not, I'm afraid I'll have worn out my welcome around here before a week has passed. Besides, your cook thinks I'm some sort of demon."

"Oh, I took care of Mariki," said Leslie matter-of-factly. "Don't let her bother you."

Roarke smiled broadly. "Yes," he agreed, drawing the word out for emphasis.

Christian glanced back and forth between them. "That sounds like a story I'll want to hear," he said, grinning. "But surely you don't want me cluttering up your extra room for that long."

"Are you still determined to sleep in the jungle?" asked Leslie with affectionate exasperation. "And what in the world is that all about in the first place?"

"When Christian sent his last electronic message advising me he was on his way here, he told me it made no difference where he slept—including a tent in the jungle," Roarke said. "And I believe, in his delirium from last evening, he fixated on that."

"Oh, I see," said Leslie, snickering. "Look, Christian, the jungle's a tad dangerous, and there isn't any other option really. Obviously I'd love you to stay with us, and it doesn't look as if Father has a problem with it. So how long are you staying?"

"I thought," said Christian, "that I should have a branch of my business here on the island, if you're in agreement, Mr. Roarke. I'll have to find a vacant building or storefront to rent, and I'll need to hire two or three employees to run it, especially in my later absence. I think that may encompass about eight to ten weeks, at best estimate. Can you two stand me that long?"

Roarke took in Leslie's bright-eyed, hopeful look and grinned. "I believe I'll look at it as an excellent opportunity for you two to discover the quirks you'll encounter in each other when you're married one day."

"That's a good perspective," remarked Christian laughingly. "I think I'll look at it that way too! I need only your approval of my business venture, and I can begin."

"I think it's a very promising prospect," Roarke said. "By all means, Christian. There will be some preliminary paperwork that I'll draw up this morning, which Leslie can take you into town to file, and then you can begin the legwork. It will do you good to have an established foothold here."

"And it'll be a terrific excuse for business trips here," put in Leslie, beaming impishly. "Arnulf can hardly argue with it when you really do have a business here."

"Exactly," said Christian cheerfully. "Leslie, my darling, you have a wonderfully devious mind. I thank you both most sincerely and gratefully for your incredibly generous hospitality, and I promise to be as light a burden on you as possible."

Roarke surveyed Leslie's glowing eyes and Christian's anticipatory grin, and remarked, "I don't think it will be a burden at all. Leslie will finally cease her moping, and Mariki will learn to accept it in due time."

"Maybe she'll stop bugging me about eating," Leslie said hopefully, and they laughed again and finally settled down to enjoy their breakfast.

Christian, though, hesitated after a few bites and aimed a half-smile at Leslie. "I think I'll wait a week or two to let Arnulf in on the plans," he said wryly. "His royal decree may not be worth much on this side of the planet, but his royal wrath is something else again…and I don't think even Marina will survive it."

Leslie shrugged. "Let him rant and rave. It's really all a lot of hot air. I mean, think about it, Christian—it's not as if you're breaking any laws or endangering anyone's life, including your brother's. He and the count never said your marriage had to be anything but in name, after all. As long as you're stuck in this agreement, and as long as you two are still married, what happens beyond that is none of his business."

Roarke chuckled. "Bluntly stated, but true nevertheless. Try to set your mind at ease, Christian. In this day and age, kings are no longer empowered to remove the heads of their subjects."

Christian's eyes widened and he burst out laughing. "Quite so…and I'd forgotten about that! In that case, if Leslie isn't needed elsewhere, maybe she can help me find a good place for my new branch, among other little errands. Again, Mr. Roarke, I thank you from the bottom of my heart." Roarke smiled acknowledgement, and Christian and Leslie grinned at each other, both looking forward to the weeks ahead.  
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_Yes, this means Christian will appear in the next story! Thanks once again to jtbwriter, Kyryn and Harry2 for all the wonderful feedback you've given me on this one._


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